


Formation

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Kuroshitsuji Reaper Kink Meme, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Kuro Reaper Kink Meme. Original request was: "William - Voyeurism: Pretty much what the subject says. Couple being watched can be whomever you want. Bonus points if William interrupts the moment at some point."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Formation

They always come here on their lunch hour. It's become a routine for them as much as it has for Will, to be in his office at exactly the right time, and to have to retrieve some sort of supplies from the dark storage closet.

Will doesn't have much of an outlet for corporeal impulses. Not to say that there aren't frequent offers, from both male and female coworkers, but he's never felt any desire toward other beings. There's something terribly uncomfortable about it, being with another actual cognizant thing.

He rarely even indulges himself; allowing his base desires to possess his body is the most severe loss of control, and if there's one thing that William T. Spears cannot tolerate, it is that.

The things that keep Will warm at night are the sound of the clock as the second hand ticks, time always moving forward, shifts regularly ending and starting - a reliable structure that Will cares for as tenderly as a mother for her child.

Order is Will's most important charge, and he never forgets it.

Closing his eyes for reasons other than sleep, though, is terrifying and wrong, and seems like a breach in decorum. The last time Will did anything other than what was proper was during his exam, when he wept at the feeling of something sharp and disorderly inside of him; it was the pinnacle of chaos and terror.

Sometimes, he still wakes up, clawing at himself in the night.

But there's no rule against observing; in fact, observing is a major part of his supervisory role, both in ordinary affairs of death, as well as the reapers he's tasked with managing.

Such is the reason he discovered Alan and Eric's strange liaisons during dinner hour. It wasn't that he suspected any wrong doing, and although Will isn't a nosy type, he also finds that it's better to know everything that goes on than not. He doesn't like to be taken by surprise with information he doesn't already have, and he's also learned over the years that upper management isn't so scrupulous with their responsibilities and straight forward tasks as he; they're political, and it sickens Will.

Nevertheless, he had found himself trapped one afternoon. It was bizarre coincidence that he ended up in the storeroom amongst paper clips, pencils and rubbers, at the same moment as the door opened behind him and shut. He had found himself trapped suddenly amidst the unexpected sounds of very quiet, almost giddy laughter, followed by the hushed sound of mouths meeting, clothes rustling, soft moans.

It was fascinating, and guiltless since he had found himself the victim of circumstance. He also had one of his questions answered, albeit in a roundabout way, about Eric and Alan's relationship. There were no rules being broken since Eric had finished mentoring Alan years before; everyone suspected, but no one could ever catch them in the act. It had become a game of sorts after a while, though almost everyone had given up at this point.

He knew, that first time, he should've announced his presence, should've told them they'd stumbled into the wrong closet that afternoon.

But he didn't; instead, he watched.

There was no loss of control, no chaos, no need to close his eyes and "indulge." All he had to do was _watch,_ and even Will doesn't feel as though he could control his inherent physical reaction to the things that Alan and Eric do to each other in dark closets.

He still watches. Today, it seems he's run out of pens, and so he goes to retrieve a few.

These two have become a sort of study for Will at this point; what they do has gone from engaging his need for practical knowledge to the same way that a ornithologist might observe birds from a distance - strange and otherworldly, almost beautiful. Not that Will would ever use such a word, but if he were to label Alan's sighs and Eric's desperate, hushed words, it might be with that adjective.

Will has walked in on other reapers in this act. Grell is a frequent offender, and Will knows he leaves his office door unlocked on purpose; it's a thrill for him, being caught. However, Will is unmoved by such risque antics at this point. There was one time, for example, that upon knocking on the door, Will was treated to the sight of debauched junior hastily gathering up his clothes from the floor of Grell's office. Grell and simply looked on with supreme satisfaction, and Will had stood there with his arms crossed, waiting for the spectacle to be over. The younger reaper had darted out the door, and Will had proceeded to read over that afternoon's assignments as Grell lounged, shameless and naked in his office chair with a smug grin on his face. 

Will had remained unperturbed. It's the principle of the thing, after all.

But Alan and Eric are different: they're emotional (this still fascinates Will more than anything else about them) and frantic in private, yet perfectly controlled in public. They are the type of anomaly that Will finds pleasurable in the same way he enjoys crossword puzzles - and Will doesn't enjoy much else besides a good riddle, or perhaps he simply won't let himself.

The supply closet becomes a refuge, though; it becomes a place that isn't a bedroom, that isn't lit, that only Will knows about. He starts to reason away the fact that he tosses off as he watches them as a coping mechanism, that it's wiser to admits one's own weaknesses than pretend they're not there. It's silly to fall into the folly of false strength, only to flounder later. Will is quite aware of his shortcomings; he just prefers to keep them at bay.

So he labels his time in the closet as a coping mechanism. It's rational. It's necessary. It's not the burn of angry cinematic records or of empathy; it doesn't give him nightmares.

But eventually he does have to stop thinking. He can't admit to himself that the sound of Alan moaning, especially when he pushes his face against Eric's shoulder, doesn't make something shimmer through him; or when Eric lifts Alan up onto one of the shelves as he fucks him, hips thrusting forward so hard that Will sometimes wonders if Alan is just going to snap in half. Will usually comes right around this time, when Eric does.

And then, there's the part that Will still can't do anything but observe. He doesn't know what he feels, what it means, where its place is in the order of the world - the part where Eric embraces Alan and tells him he loves him ( _"loves_ him" - a repugnant word), that they'll never be apart - in between pressing desperate, strangely melancholy kisses to his face.

It's like watching the flutter of cardinal wings, the flight of a bird - beautiful solely for the spectacle of it. But "beautiful" has always been a strange word to Will, and he's more interested in trying to define it than witness it.

When he does, it's terrifying: beauty as more than definition.

 _"You know, darling,"_ Grell had said to him one afternoon, a rare moment when he wasn't busy being lascivious in his office, _"you'd do much better with a good shagging once in a while. You look dreadful."_

Will had realized, upon looking in the mirror, that Grell was right.

The next time he goes to the storeroom, he intentionally leaves the light on; when Eric and Alan stumble in together, however, they don't even see him.

Will is expecting something different to happen, but they're so wrapped up in each other that they don't even notice him standing next to a shelf. It goes on for a painfully awkward minute or so, until Will clears his throat.

"Senior Spears!" Alan gasps, jumping away from Eric, as if he can hide the fact that his shirt is half-unbuttoned and his bolo tie has been carelessly thrown onto one of the shelves behind him.

"Spears, are you serious?" Eric grits out, raising an eyebrow.

"I found myself in need of a pen," Will says, clearing his throat. "My apologies. I'm afraid I've inadvertently interrupted your... activities. I have no opposition to it, since you are no longer in positions of unequal rank."

Alan just stares at him; Eric rolls his eyes.

"Well, then..."

Alan eyes him curiously, and Will takes a few steps alongside them to escape toward the door.

"Would you like to join us?" Alan asks suddenly.

He shoots Eric a look, and Eric gets a rather stupid, eager grin on his face.

Will just stares at both of them in disbelief, and Eric shakes his head.

"You do the talking," he says to Alan, and shuts his mouth firmly. Alan laughs softly - his voice is rather pleasant when one stops to really listen, lilting but also steadfast when need be - and he boldly places a hand on Will's shoulder.

"Senior," he says, "you look a bit... pale. And it _is_ our designated lunch hour."

Alan raises a decent point, and Will debates. But no! No, "Alan and Eric hour" (Will resents the thought as it enters his head, since the hour now apparently has a title) is to be observed, studied, reflected upon. Not to participate. Participation is chaos, and Alan's lips are chaotic, as are Eric's hands and--

Oh bloody hell, but Alan's lips are soft and Eric's hands are strong.

"This is highly unorthodox," Will manages to say as a final hurrah to his dignity.

It's also about the same time that Eric, who's only an inch or so taller than Will, is standing behind him and pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to his neck, and Alan is on his knees with Will's cock in his mouth, that Will gives up on his studies.

He tries not to think about birds or cinematic records or chaos; in fact, it's all rather controlled, the way that Alan methodically works his tongue along Will's cock, intuitively adjusting where it feels best based on Will's subtle reactions. 

And Eric, who rumbles into his ear in a comedically sheepish voice, "Alan's always fancied you a bit. Quite pleased to oblige though," then shamelessly reaches around to play with Will's nipples.

Toward the entire affair, Will is so beside himself with indulgent pleasure - sweat-slicked and breathing hard and desperately thrusting into Alan's mouth - that his mind is wonderfully blank when he comes.

Alan gives him a sweet smile as he stands up and reaches up to fix Will's hair.

"Any time you like, Senior Spears," he says.

Eric echoes his approval, and they manage to get their respective kit back on in some semblance of order.

Will has wept twice in his career: once during exams, and once after 999 missing deaths were finally accounted for.


End file.
